THERE but for the grace of God go I, was my reaction to watching Netflix’s The Tinder Swindler.
No, I have not been duped by the modern phenomenon of romance fraud, but I know women who have been left emotionally and financially devastated after falling victim to men on dating apps.
To that end, this tale was a bit too close to home for my liking.
I was left utterly traumatised by the documentary about Israeli-born convicted fraudster Simon Leviev, a poor excuse for a man who charmed women and extorted money out of them on an unbelievable scale after matching with them on Tinder.
The film is a very modern parable of finance fraud which ought to be watched by everyone, regardless of whether or not they’re active on dating apps.
According to banking industry body UK Finance, bank transfers related to romance scams were up 20 per cent year-on-year in 2020.
The FBI estimates Americans lost around $1billion in the same way last year alone.
It’s a crime on the rise and the chances are you will know someone who knows someone who has fallen victim.
Obviously, the financial repercussions were horrific for Leviev’s victims, but it’s the psychology behind the deceit and extortion that hit me so hard.
I’ve been a reluctant participant in dating on apps for the past ten months.
I had felt compelled to throw my hat (and my soul) in the ring on account of lockdowns and the dawning realisation that this is the way people meet each other.
Except, of course, you don’t initially actually meet. You glance and swipe. You speedily scan a profile before you decide if you like or dislike. I have to confess, I was utterly naive at the beginning. I thought everyone was who they said they were. I had neither a wealth of dating nor social media experience and it could easily have made me a sitting duck in some circumstances.
I was very lucky at first. The men I was in touch with were who they said they were, even when they turned up. Result!
After initially putting all my eggs in one basket, I soon realised that multiple conversations needed to be had in order to sort the wheat from the chaff.
And over time, I have, of course, become much savvier. And cynical.
Catfish would appear then swiftly disappear as soon as I asked any moderately searching questions.
I was shocked and horrified that people would go to the trouble of creating fake profiles — using other people’s pictures to lure you.
Of course, we view the victims of romance fraud as idiots.
They’re stupid for believing someone’s story of hardship, tragedy, death or injury.
They’re fools for getting sucked in by the criminals’ creative use of language, flowers maybe, and even gifts.
They’re naive for allowing themselves to be manipulated and are blatantly victims of their own ignorance and lack of wisdom. They only have themselves to blame.
However, I would plead something other.
I had neither a wealth of dating nor social media experience under my belt and it could easily have made me a sitting duck in some circumstances. I was very lucky at first. The men I was in touch with were who they said they were, even when they turned up. Result!
Ulrika Jonsson
While I can’t foresee a time when I would ever send a stranger money, these victims — and we can’t get away from the fact that they are predominantly women — are simply displaying hope, trust and that instinctive human quality of empathy.
In the pursuit of love we are required to have faith and to believe in others.
And fundamentally it’s crucial that we do, because that is what love, attraction and romance demands of us.
The majority of women who are targeted are over 40 (often widowed, divorced or just plain lonely).
Us old ’uns are deemed easy prey because we are supposedly desperate, needy, gullible and more inclined to be charmed.
But Leviev’s victims were all young women — proof that anyone is capable of succumbing.
It’s manipulative and brutal. We are desperate to believe the best of people because we need to be hopeful. Without hope, we have nothing.
I rather wish I had taken lessons in dating apps before I jumped on. Something useful where I might have learnt to see those red flags my gut instinct picked up on but which I mentally painted a paler shade of pink.
As an established romantic, I’ve had to harden myself — and fast.
The whole experience has made me distrusting, disparaging and it has left me despairing at times.
We have to keep the faith and hang on in there. We have to trust.
It’s just a question of changing the way we apply that trust to others — and crucial, too, that we share our stories in order that more people don’t fall victim.
THE loss of a child, at whatever age, is something I cannot even bear to contemplate, and I can’t imagine time is a healer.
This week saw the second anniversary of the death of Caroline Flack. She was 40.
Her grieving mother, Christine, has finally been able to get the Independent Office for Police Conduct to ask the Met to reinvestigate why Caroline was charged, rather than just cautioned, over an attack on her then-boyfriend Lewis Burton.
The day after the TV presenter was told the Crown Prosecution Service was going ahead with a trial, she ended her life. Her mother now wants to establish whether she was treated differently because she was a celebrity.
The whole aspect of being a celeb is something society as a whole believes is full of charm and privileged treatment.
Speaking as a ’sleb, I always get comments from mere mortals about what an exciting, enticing and mesmerising life I must lead. My job must just be great fun at all times.
And while I have no intention of denying I’ve had some remarkable blessings over the years there is a caveat.
I’ve lost count of the number of times when certain people’s intention is to treat you with greater disdain, be dismissive or teach you a lesson because you must think you’re special.
The day after the television presenter was told the Crown Prosecution Service was going ahead with a trial, she ended her life. Her mother now wants to establish whether she was treated differently because she was a celebrity – and I’m sure she’s not the only one.
Ulrika Jonsson
Some celebs do believe they’re special and behave in a cavalier way. But looking at the situation in which Caroline found herself – fragile and vulnerable – one can’t help but wonder whether it was the intention of those arresting her to teach her a bloody good lesson. We’ll see.
Whatever emerges, I sincerely hope that Christine finds some solace in the outcome.
She will never recover from the death of her beautiful daughter but she is clearly desperate to prove she has done right by Caroline. I sincerely hope she achieves that.
AND so the Wagatha Christie tale goes on.
We’re all meddlesome nosy parkers. We’re inquisitive and intrigued. So we’re gluttons for this story of warring women.
Obviously, it goes without saying that if it was two men, we wouldn’t be half as bothered. But such is life.
Reading the messages between Rebekah Vardy and her publicist is a cause for a sharp intake of breath.
That use of language and the sense of overwhelming bitterness and burning vengeance is enough to send all of us into an insatiable orgasm of judgment and side-taking. It’s like being back at school – except we’re watching as Vardy and Coleen Rooney mud wrestle in the adult cesspit of legality and slander.
It made me think of the text exchanges between me and my best friend – who shall remain nameless for legal reasons. We pray daily to God that the police never get hold of our phones because we’ll be wiped off the face of the Earth with some of the comments we make.
But one thing is for sure, my friend and I do not discriminate. On many days we hate absolutely everyone.
FEW genuine positives may have come out of the many lockdowns we’ve had to endure.
And while the vast majority of us welcome the rollback of Covid restrictions due later this month, there are inevitably going to be some potential losses.
At risk is the potential removal of early at-home medical abortions, which are currently still being offered to women after a telephone consultation with a medical professional, rather than having to physically go to a clinic. As the NHS buckled under pressure during the pandemic, women who were clinically eligible were offered this safe option.
We’re still awaiting clarity about whether this will be allowed to continue as the Government is still in consultation.
This is not a pro-choice issue. We live in a pro-choice country. It is lawful and I feel very strongly that women should continue to have access to it.
I think of all those women who might be vulnerable. They could be in coercive relationships or are simply not able to get themselves to a clinic for help.
We absolutely must not take away their choice in this regard and my concern is that once this facility is removed, it might never be reinstated.
Once again, it comes down to the issue of allowing women autonomy over their own bodies.
And with lengthy NHS waiting lists for non-emergency treatments and procedures, adding late surgical abortions to the strain seems unnecessary and potentially perilous.
